Does It Go Up or Does It Go Down?

The answer most of the time is it goes sideways, i.e., from left to right as on the printed page or on the piano.  The only  time "it" truly goes up or down is when singing.

Playing the Bach Two-Part Inventions as if they are puzzles about how many ways an instrumentalist can disguise upward or downward motion utterly transforms them.  I looked up Inventions in Grove yesterday where, according to John Caldwell, they are "textless ricercare,"  a description I quite enjoy.  In other words, they are textless instrumental works searching for the sense of text, which in Baroque terms would have had a great deal to do with up and down.

The Three-Part are not called Inventions but Sinfonias. As I do not (yet) have three hands I always find these works challenging.  But I am working on it.

Artistry Among Amateurs

Some would say it is an oxymoron, that there is no artistry among amateurs.  But I have staked a great deal of my teaching career on the assumption that, on the contrary, true artistry is more easily found among amateurs than among the general professional population.

Yesterday I was treated to a wonderful example.  A young man, student of mine for many years, not a practicer, not even a pianist, but an improviser, is working on his sight-reading.   We are using as a text the brilliant compendium of Preludes and Exercises by Muzio Clementi, a source of astonishing insight into the connection between ear and hand.  We had reached the point where we were discussing the dramatic tension that arises when note values confront tone values, so to speak. 

Working on the A flat Prelude he experienced from within himself full awareness of the power of long vs. short, of soft vs. loud, of dissonance vs. consonance, modeling the piece to realize its full potential.  Within its limited nine-bar duration it touches many extremes in the categories just listed.

I am fascinated at his awareness as he worked on the choices he had, his desire to do it better, and his satisfaction with his achievement.  I am even more fascinated that nothing in my training prepared me at his age to be in touch with my own responses.  My reaction to the piece would have been to reject it out of hand.

Are We Going to Let the Eyes Have It?

Everyone (well, not exactly everyone) wants to know who killed classical music.  Look at it this way: If it is written down it must be so.  If music is written down that must mean something.

Imagine you are a recording engineer.  When what you hear doesn't correspond to what is written down you will get high marks for erasing the parts of the sound that interfere with the clean and tidy written symbols.

I had the privilege many years ago of working with Richard Dyer-Bennet, the renowned balladeer who accompanied himself on the guitar with splendid complex textures almost too rich to imagine.  His first commercial recording, I believe on Columbia Records, so denatured his sound that he started his own record company so as to control every aspect of production.  That was long before the existence of the electronic processes that make such an enterprise so easy nowadays.  When he and I collaborated on his English language version of Schubert's Schoene Muellerin (The Lovely Milleress published by Schirmer) it was the first time he had worked with a pianist.  When we recorded it he was determined to use the same approach as when he had recorded his guitar work, i.e., to capture the whole sound with all its overtone complexity. 

Another true story from many years ago:  I first heard Yo-yo Ma play at a special presentation at the old Mannes College of Music auditorium, a wood-paneled room on Manhattan's east side.  The informal program consisted of selected movements from the Bach Suites for unaccompanied cello.  It was a truly amazing experience, which I recall vividly to this day.

My young daughter, having devoured an old Folkways recording of the cello-like Indian serengi, would, I was sure, love hearing such playing.  So I bought the CD set, gave it to her for first listening, and was shocked when, a half-hour later, she handed me the discs, saying, "You can have it."  Astonished, I gave the CDs a listen.  She was right.  Not an overtone to be heard.  All gone.

Where?  Why? 

Simple Isn't Easy

There are two things wrong with starting children on the piano with music of the 18th century:

• Triads sounded completely different then.  The equal temperament of the modern piano is a distortion of true resonance.  Therefore, though the music can sound fantastic on a modern piano properly handled, it does not "true" as vocal music does.  Children are very sensitive to these things.
• Contemporary composers have written a lot of really good easy stuff for modern kids.  It doesn't sound like fake Mozart because it isn't fake anything.  All you have to do is look for some:  nobody is hiding it.  There are many things to be said in favor of living in one's time, especially for teachers!

Listening is State of the Art

Making achievement the goal of music training prepares students for pre-existing careers.  Listening, on the other hand, awakens every nerve to what is happening, to exploration within the framework of the now as well as musics of other cultures and other eras.

Competition is by definition exclusive; paying attention (listening) is inclusive.

Try it.

One-and-

After years of dutifully counting out subdivided beats in the rigid manner of traditional piano pedagogy, my determined adult student has the great challenge of playing notes without subdividing them.  The woman, a world-class scientist, finds this "extremely difficult."

Why does it matter?  If all note values are subdivided there can be no legato.  Legato presumes a value the length of the phrase.  Every interruption, mental or physical, constitutes a break in the thought.

This is why I favor a system of vocalization based on vowels:  dah for long; dit for medium; dee or deedle
for the short.  Take out the accents; take out the numbers; take out the barlines.  Who knows what might emerge?  Haydn, perhaps.

Haydn'ed to Death

If you are one of the unfortunate many whose early music training included heavy doses of Haydn you may have reacted as I did, by throwing out every note of it you ever possessed, vowing never to touch the stuff. 

Then, if you are one of the fortunate few to have awakened one day, as I did, to the wealth of drama in his every note, you cannot ever hear it out—there is always more to be experienced in every piece.

“I could probably say that during my long life I have heard a great deal of music.  Well, when I hear Haydn, I have the impression of discovering something new.  If interpreted the way it deserves, great music really is rich enough to retain its ‘novel’ character and to let desire grow in us to hear it again and again.” – Pablo Casals, quoted by Franz Eibner in the Preface to the Wiener Urtext edition of Haydn’s Piano Pieces. 

So, if you are young enough to value, as I do, the proximity of music in the clubs with a one drink minimum and a pitcher passed for voluntary support of the musicians, you may understand why I invite you to come hear Haydn (in the company of Bartok) under similar terms.